


bent and broken, dignity stolen

by Oliraki



Series: if i had one wish [1]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Angst with porn, Horny idiots, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mutual Pining, Porn With Plot, Public Blow Jobs, Public Hand Jobs, Public Sex, Threatens Flirtingly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 09:04:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19742473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oliraki/pseuds/Oliraki
Summary: Rezyl Azzir is dragged from his ashen tomb and left to pick up the pieces of who he once was. He watches people start to hope, their smiles and laughter, but stays distant from it all.Or, he did, until the Hunter caught his attention.





	bent and broken, dignity stolen

**Author's Note:**

> Doksa has dragged me into this ship and I am eternally grateful to them for it. I will single handedly create a Rezyl/Jaren tag if I have to and none of you can stop me. 
> 
> This work has been inspired by @kingsnakesss and @subtleseal on Twitter. Thank you for listening me yell about this for hours on end

He wakes to the unbearable heat of a room with no light, no sound. The air itself is suffocating, tearing at his lungs as he tries to breathe, only to gasp around the ash in his mouth. Something is not right and he can feel it in his very bones, in the way his chest feels empty despite the steady beat against his ribs. The silence stretches, constricting, and it makes him uncomfortable in his own skin—    
  
“—Guardian? Eyes up, Guardian!"   
  
The sudden sound startles him into moving, shaking hands reaching for a weapon that is not there despite his instincts. A little, twirling thing suddenly obscures his field of vision and though he does not know what it is, its core is a source of light that immediately brings him comfort. He stills and breathes deeply until he cannot taste the ash anymore, before slowly gathering himself. The room is still uncomfortably hot, but it is manageable now that there is a visible source of light.   
  
“Oh, finally. I was starting to worry that something went wrong!” The little thing floats further away from him as he starts to stand, presumably to give him space, but he reaches out to gently stop it from wandering too far, desperate. It makes a quiet, surprised sound, but settles at the palm of his hand easily, as if it was made to be here.   
  
“Where?” His voice is dry, crackling around the edges like it has been unused for a long time. He tries to clear his throat with a rough hum as he cradles his bare hands over the fragile source of light, protective even if he still does not know what it is.  _ Who _ it is. That makes him still once again, but this time it is because of thoughtfulness rather than impending panic.   
  
“Who are you?” He asks instead, certain that the little light is more important than the slowly cooling room around him. It takes him a moment bit too long to realize that the room itself is not suffocating nor something that could burn him if he so as moved wrong. Rather, it is his own mind playing tricks on him and that is confirmed when he dares to lift a hand away from his savior to lay it on the wall next to him  — the surface is cool to the touch, almost shockingly cold.    
  
“A Ghost! Your Ghost, to be specific. You’ve been...dead, for a long time.” There is a lot to unpack in that sentence — what is a Ghost, exactly, what does it  _ mean _ that he now has one? How did he die, how long ago, why is he alive again? He drops his arm from the wall and just watches the Ghost, silent, until it floats away from his hand towards a — window?   
  
“Come on, we can talk somewhere else.” He should listen. It has only been a few moments since his awakening and yet there are deep instincts that are telling him to listen to this little thing and leave — but there is also a poisonous curiosity that makes him hesitate. He only has questions now, no answers, and the room that has been his tomb for so long is currently the only thing capable of telling him at least something.   
  
And so, he stays.   
  
He stays until he finds out his name, hastily scrawled onto the floor where his body had laid. There are faint red marks surrounding the words  _ Rezyl Azzir  _ and when he ventures further he finds a shattered piece of glass, stained with blood. He stays until he notices the ash on the floor, the scorch marks on the walls — until he can feel the heat anew, suffocatingly intense, despite the Ghost reassuring him that the room temperature is slightly below average.    
  
Rezyl Azzir stays until he understands that fire is a treacherous, all-consuming mistress.   
  


* * *

  
The refugee camp is a fragile little thing when Rezyl stumbles upon it. The people are even more so, with their hushed whispers and fearful glances, and far too many times that makes Rezyl afraid — of how he could easily break them, call upon static and leave them motionless.   
  
Instead, he decides to protect. To help, to  _ guard.  _ He steps between Faction disputes, back straight and head held high with his hands behind his back  — making it clear that he does not think of them as a threat, because he does not. These people do not know death the way he does and they haven’t the faintest idea of what it feels like to have flames licking along your skin, deceptively welcoming as they drag you into a dark, dark abyss. The Risen who side with the Factions are arrogant, volatile, misusing the gift of the Traveler.    
  
Rezyl does not see them as a threat because it would be easy to extinguish their Light.   
  
Soon, the Faction Wars become the least of their worries. There is no time for petty rivalries when the Fallen come and Rezyl is not gentle with his words when he puts a stop to the little spat — instead, he tells the other Risen to direct their restlessness towards the threat to humanity. Somewhere along the line, after the victories with too many casualties, Rezyl gains the title of a hero.   
  
The Fallen are driven back and walls are raised in their place, and the people dare to hope. Rezyl watches as they stand strong, as they test the limits and freedoms this new situation gives them — he observes them, their smiles and laughter, their faith. He stays at the edges of the scene, steadfast and pragmatic, but unwilling to join them. He keeps himself distant.   
  
Until he doesn’t.   
  
It is a Hunter that catches his eye, dressed in armour that should not draw attention. Their steps are sure but silent, confident in their strength though they do not flaunt it — that certainty is what pulls Rezyl in, yet he does not approach. He watches them until the Hunter grows miffed about the attention and approaches him instead.   
  
“Is there something you want?” The Hunter’s face is obscured by a simple helmet, meant for practicality rather than showcasing, but the annoyance is still clear in their voice — a distinctively male voice, actually, and that makes Rezyl cross out three names from his mental list of people that this Hunter could be.    
  
Amusement tugs the corners of his lips up as he pushes off of the wall, breaching the Hunter’s personal space effortlessly. The Hunter doesn’t even flinch, refuses to back down, and instead squares his shoulders as if readying up for a fight — Rezyl is not surprised by it, not at all. This many Risen in one place make tensions run high and friendly fire is a common thing for them all.   
  
“No”, he huffs out as the steps past the Hunter, immensely entertained by the affronted silence that follows him. “But it is cute that you think so.”   
  


* * *

As most Guardians, Rezyl names his Ghost. The little light is stubborn and unafraid of speaking its mind — it is a breath of fresh air, his guiding light who pulled him back from the clutching hands of an ashen abyss. His Ghost breached the darkness of his tomb and showed him the way out.

  
Rezyl names it Vivid.    
  
Sometimes Vivid reminds him of fire. Not the roaring, hungering wildfire that claimed him once upon a time, but a gentle warmth — it is protective of him, as he is of it, and though he does not like making Vivid worry there is always a hearty feeling that blossoms in his chest whenever it expresses that it cares.   
  
Still, Rezyl would rather not suffer a shot through his gut to experience it. The Vandal goes down a few seconds later by a well placed shot to the head and the sight of its body falling makes Rezyl bare his teeth behind his helmet threateningly. He covers the wound on his stomach with his hand, unwilling to call Vivid out in the open to heal it, and turns to face whoever did the killing blow.   
  
It is a familiar, simple mask that greets him.    
  
“Most people don’t flirt and run”, the Hunter offers in a way of greeting. The unexpected nature of it makes Rezyl still, bloodied fingers flexing against his wrecked armor — the move draws the attention of the Hunter, who releases a noise that is something between a hiss and a laugh. “Come on, then, my camp is nearby.”

This, strangely, reminds Rezyl of when Vivid resurrected him. Of how it told him to move, to leave the wretched excuse of a tomb, of how he had not listened and had stayed instead to dig open wounds he had not known existed. This is familiar yet different — he  _ shouldn’t _ follow this Hunter. It was beyond foolish.

  
He takes a step, then another after another, until they reach the Hunter’s camp.   
  
It’s a secluded little thing, right at the edge of a forest, strategically hidden behind branches and tall rocks. It is as safe as it can get and going by the way the Hunter doesn’t waste any time in getting rid of his helmet, he knows it as well.   
  
The Hunter doesn’t afford Rezyl any time to take in his features and instead manhandles him to sit on top of a bedroll, before disappearing into the nearby tent with nary a word. Rezyl blinks slowly, bewildered, before he extents the hand not stained by blood — Vivid appears onto his palm with a muted flare of light. It flutters about disapprovingly for a few seconds, before focusing on healing the gunshot wound at his side.   
  
The Hunter returns just as Vivid flickers away, the hood of his cloak pulled down and one hand ungloved.    
  
“Woulda thought you for someone to be a little more careful,  _ hero _ .” The upwards tilt of the Hunter’s lips is mocking as he tugs off the remaining glove, transmatting it away with an easy flicker of his wrist. Rezyl doesn’t honor that with a response and reaches for the straps on the back of his own helmet — it clicks open with a quiet hiss and he lowers it onto the ground unceremoniously, eyebrows raised high in a clear taunt.   
  
“High risk, high reward”, Rezyl murmurs, making a show of appraising the Hunter. He is awarded with a considering tilt of a head that shows off the Hunter’s unprotected neck enticingly — a deliberate move that gets Rezyl a little more interested in the situation at hand.   
  
It is a simple game that has spanned the better part of several months, the one they have been playing. Their encounters have been short yet anything but sweet — flirtatious moments that border on threatening, the teasing unspoken promises of a few lingering touches.   
  
As Rezyl stands up oh, so slowly, he realizes that this Hunter will become the cause of his undoing.   
  
He should have seen it coming a mile away. The quiet confidence was what drew him in, but what made him stay — playfully, at the edges, giving and making chase — was the fact that despite it all, Jaren Ward did not raise Rezyl on a pedestal. No, no, in fact the Hunter did much the opposite. He mocked his title of  _ hero _ , refused to praise the ground he walked on.

Jaren Ward thought of Rezyl Azzir as human, not a legend. That will be his undoing, because it’s easy to stay distant from people who do not think of him as one of them — it is decidedly not the case with this infuriating Hunter. 

  
That, that, is the reason why Rezyl  _ wants. _ __  
__  
Jaren meets him in the middle with confident steps and he looks so damn  _ smug _ that Rezyl doesn’t hesitate at all as he reaches out to tangle gloved fingers between light-hued hair, giving an experimental tug when the Hunter doesn’t protest — the following sound fuels his ever growing interest even more and this time, it is his turn to feel smug.   
  
“You are an infuriating man, Jaren Ward”, Rezyl murmurs as he uses the hold he has on his hair to tug the other man into a bruising kiss. He interrupts the Hunter’s laugh by biting his lower lip, turns it into a breathy moan instead — this is not the best place to do this, far from it. He knows with a certainty that they are not completely safe from prying eyes here, that there are still various Fallen patrolling the edges of the ruins he had come to clear out in the first place.   
  
For all of Rezyl’s resolution, his steadfastness, he is only human — and Jaren is a tempting man.   
  
Jaren answers his hunger with a determination that would surprise him, if they had not played this tug and war for so long. The Hunter reaches for clasps of his lower armour, insistent, and Rezyl returns that desire by backing him against one of the stones, by knocking his knees apart so he could slip a leg between his.   
  
“Not too shabby, yourself, eh?” The jab is punctuated with an insisting tug at the buckle that keeps his lower armor together. Despite himself, Rezyl snorts in amusements as he slips a hand free from Jaren’s hair to click the buckle open with two, well-practiced movements.    
  
“Oh, but I have yet to even get  _ started _ ”, Rezyl hummed against Jaren’s throat, driving the point properly across by closing his teeth around the dangerously soft skin — he  __ felt  rather than heard the Hunter’s breathing hitch and couldn’t help the wicked smile that crossed his lips at the reaction.   
  
They don’t waste time with taking all of their armour off and even if they weren’t impatient thanks to the long, long build up Rezyl would have advised against it — they were still in enemy territory, after all. Jaren unceremoniously tugs open his own leather pants as Rezyl works on leaving dark marks on his collarbones. Distantly, he hopes that there won’t be a need to revive Jaren for a long while. He likes the idea of the Hunter being marked up, even if it’s a little possessive of him.

“Come on, come on”, Jaren urges, his breath stuttering, as he takes both of their cocks in his hand. Rezyl moves one hand to the Hunter’s waist, digs his fingers deep until he’s sure that there will be bruises, and the other to join Jaren’s — he makes his hold painfully tight at first and loosens it only when he manages to draw a whine from the back of Jaren’s throat, and instead thumbs at the head to smear pre-cum to make the friction a little more bearable.

  
Rezyl wants to be cruel and draw it out. He wants to make Jaren needy for it, wants to hear him  _ beg,  _ but that will have to wait for some other time where they are not under the risk of enemy gunfire. Instead, he twists his wrist on the Hunter’s dick, teases with the hint of blunt nails only to suddenly speed up the pace. Jaren curses and grabs a hold of the front of his armour, lightning quick, to yank him down.   
  
He bites down harshly when he comes and Rezyl is delighted at the feeling of skin breaking, of blood running down his throat.    
  
Jaren collapses against him, inhaling deeply for breath now that Rezyl isn’t trying his best to restrict it with his teeth. He waits it out, patient, but he doesn’t ease up with his hold on the Hunter’s waist nor does he draw back either. He only lifts his come-stained hand — with barely any thought saved for the absolutely ruined leather gloves — and uses it to grab a hold of Jaren’s chin roughly.    
  
“I think you’d look pretty on your knees”, Rezyl states quietly, the words no less intense despite it, before he uses the hold he has on Jaren’s face to push him down. He’s right, as he thought — Jaren  _ does _ look good on his knees, wide eyes hazy and his jaw covered with his own come. A pleased hum escapes him at the sight. He makes quick use of the pliant, easy way a post-orgasm Jaren lets himself handled and guides the man’s mouth to his cock with hands in his hair.   
  
He doesn’t need further encouragement after that. Rezyl has to make a conscious effort to not tighten his hold on Jaren’s hair  _ too _ much as soft lips wrap around the head of his dick and instead he leans his left forearm against the tree trunk, effectively trapping the Hunter between his legs, on his knees — that should not be as enticing at is and as he glances down, Rezyl has to smother a groan.   
  
Jaren has no reservations against dragging it out. He starts slowly, almost coyly, by trailing his lips at the side of his cock before drawing back to tongue at the tip — and that is enough to break the delicate hold Rezyl has been keeping over his self-control all this time. The Hunter lets out a surprised, muffled sound as Rezyl drags him roughly forward, but he doesn’t even try to object and instead takes him deep until his dick hits the back of Jaren’s throat.   
  
“You can do better than that”, Rezyl murmurs, voice rough, and is immensely delighted by the sound that the words draw out of Jaren. The Hunter shifts his weight before he tilts his head and this time, Rezyl cannot catch the groan of pleasure before it escapes free — Jaren looks so damn  _ smug _ about it and that makes heat flare inside his veins. He drags the Hunter forward until he’s choking on his cock, tears in the corners of eyes, but Jaren doesn’t try to break free of the hold and it is that knowledge, the fact that this man lets Rezyl manhandle him that does him in.   
  
Jaren doesn’t swallow and instead draws back, spits the come to the side of them, and he makes the move look so defiant that Rezyl laughs at the ridiculousness of it all.With a low, satisfies hum, he takes one step backwards to gift him some breathing space.   
  
“Wiped that damn smirk finally off your face, didn’t I?”

**Author's Note:**

> I could have made it longer. I was tempted to. But then Doksa started becoming hungry and I am obligated to feed them.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
